Poeticous Logo
en
English Español Français Italiano
Francis W. L. Adams

Francis W. L. Adams

Père-la-Chaise

(PARIS)
 
I STOOD in Père-la-Chaise. The putrid City,
Paris, the harlot of the nations, lay,
The bug-bright thing that knows not love nor pity,
Flashing her bare shame to the summer’s day.
Here where I stand, they slew you, brothers, whom
Hell’s wrongs unutterable had made as mad.
The rifle shots re-echoed in his tomb,
The gilded scoundrel’s who had been so glad.
O Morny, O blood-sucker of thy race—
O brain, O hand that wrought out empire that
The lust in one for power, for tinsel place,
Might rest; one lecher’s hungry heart grow fat—
Is it for nothing, now and evermore,
O you whose sin in life had death in ease,
The murder of your victims beats the door
Wherein your careless carrion lies at peace?

1
Enjoyed this read? Treat us to a coffee!.
Your help allows us to exist.
Liked or faved by...
Other works by Francis W. L. Adams...
The Peasants’ Revolt

THRO’ the mists of years, Thro’ the lies of men, Your bloody sweat and tears, Your desperate hopes and fears Reach us once again,
The Australian Flag

PURE blue Flag of heaven With your silver stars, Not beside those Crosses’ Blood-stained torture-bars: Not beside the token
Jesus

WHERE is poor Jesus gone? He sits with Dives now, And his dogs flesh their teeth On Lazarus below. Where is poor Jesus gone?
London

CRUEL City, London, London, Where, duped slaves of devils’ cre… Men and women desperate, undone, Dream such dreams, and do such dee… London, London, cruel city,
To Queen Victoria in England

An Address on her Jubilee Year MADAM, you have done well! Let… Speech addressed to a woman who ne… Daub you over with lies or deafen… I will praise you alone for your a…
To an Old Friend in England

Was it for nothing in the years go… O my love, O my friend, You thrilled me with your noble wo… Hope beyond life, and love, love b… Yet now I shudder, and yet you di…
To the Girls of the Unions

GIRLS, we love you, and love Asks you to give again That which draws it above, Beautiful, without stain. Give us weariless faith
Gordon’s Grave

All the heat and the glow and the…    of the summer afternoon; the scent of the sweet-briar bush    over bowing grass-blades and br… the birds that flit and pass;
To an Artist

YOU tell me these great lords hav… I say they have degraded it. Look… When ever did they let the Poet s… The Painter paint, the Sculptor h… The Music raise her heavenly voic…
A Mahomedan Ship Fireman

UP from the oven pit, The hell where poor men toil, At the sunset hour he comes Clean-clothed, washed from soil. On the fo’c’s’le head he kneels,
Ireland

O WE have loved you through cold… And pitiless frost, Consuming our offering of blood an… Gladly again and again and again, Though it all seemed lost,
Holy Russia

CROUCHED in the terrible land, The circle of pitiless ice, With frozen bloody feet And her pestilential summer’s Fever-throb in her brow,
Epode

BEYOND the Night, down o’er the… I see light’s harbinger of day rel… Upon the false gleam of the ante-d… Lo, the fair heaven of sun-pursuin… Beyond the lampless sleep and peri…
A Story

(For the Irish Delegates in Aust… DO you want to hear a story, With a nobler praise than ‘glory,’ Of a man who loved the right like… hell?
From a Verandah

(Sydney) ‘Armageddon’ O CITY lapped in sun and Sabbat… With happy face of plenteous ease… Have you no doubts that whisper, d…



Top